


first time for everyone

by witchertrashbag (intothegarbagechute)



Series: Wine Aunt Smut Asks [20]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Exhibitionism, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Work, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothegarbagechute/pseuds/witchertrashbag
Summary: This is an AU where, instead of bb Geralt being found/picked up by Vesemir, he's picked up by a passing merchant and sold to the madame of a brothel in exchange for a week with their best girl, Belle. Inspired by the universal need to destroy the twink that is bb Henry Cavill.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Wine Aunt Smut Asks [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666225
Comments: 16
Kudos: 125





	first time for everyone

**Author's Note:**

> Literally no one asked for this. I didn't ask for this. I sat down to write 900 words and then this took over my day and I'm just as upset about it as you are. Probably more???

A brothel’s a strange place to grow up, stranger still once a young boy starts to feel his biology come to life. The madam was very protective of him, insistent he never be seen by clients. The very first thing she taught him was the first thing she taught all her girls: _no one touches you without your say so. If they do, you tell me_. 

So the boy made it through many perilous years with nothing but little boy crushes on the girls that were met with giggles and smiles and “Oooh he’s going to be trouble!”

And he was.

A few years of fetching water for hot baths for clients and hygiene built a sturdy back and broadening shoulders, thighs thick and ropy to heft the heavy buckets high. The girls spoiled him, not with trinkets or sweets, but with meat, which he ate ravenously. The twists and turns of mopping and scraping and cleaning a filthy house grew sinewy muscles across his torso. But the madam, who had first thought this boy could be a bulky deterrent to more aggressive patrons, knew it was not to be. Not with rosy cheeks like those, or that mouth that seemed to redden with every year.

Already an expert at all the hiding spots in the house, he took to listening to the girls-- at first to stifle his laughter at their ridiculous cries and moans, but within a few years he found himself listening for an entirely different reason. And not just to them, but to their clients: their deep voices husky with lust, at the thick grunts they released as they thrust away, at the few who seemed to give over entirely to their passions and growl with pleasure.

As he reached eighteen, the boy grew more flirtatious, learning the seductions the girls leveled at their clients and trying it back on them. Once the madam caught a few of them red-handed, “teaching” the boy how, precisely, to please a woman (very easy to find them out from the sounds this girl was making), she told him it was time for him to go.

He begged her to let him stay, to let him diversify her offerings for her patrons. She quirked an eyebrow, but he told her he very much understood what he was suggesting. He knew they didn’t entertain female patrons-- not by rule, but by opportunity. And he knew what he wanted.

So she told him again: _no one touches you without your say so. They do, you tell me._

He’d line up for new clients with the girls, starched and pressed, his linen shirt teasingly unbuttoned, his hair slicked and polished, his cheeks rosy and his lips wet. Of course some of the men were unappealing; their gaze, their gait, their dress. And still they’d pass him over. He grew haughty, if only to cover his hurt.

Until one day, when a man walked into the house that sent a jolt up his spine. The boy heard the frightened murmurs of the girls as they pinched their cheeks and made sure their lingerie was undone in just the right way and scurried to the parlor. Belle (a decade older now and still commanding) pinched his cheeks to their rosiest and gave him a sharp kiss, both puffing his lips and transferring some of her rouge onto them, before giving him a wink and slipping through the curtain to the parlor.

The patron was already glancing at the girls softly, a bit hunched for his height, as though trying to seem smaller. The truth is he was broad, lean, and quite imposing in his light armor, his hair wild, the makings of a beard appearing, actually quite filthy from time on the road. He still carried two swords strapped across his back.

When the boy fell in line and met the man’s eyes, he found a shock of yellow. A silver medallion aground his neck. He straightened to his full height in front of the boy-- who could do nothing but drink in this mountain of a man: even his hands in his gloves were thick. The boy couldn’t help but glance hungrily at his trousers, searching for a hint, a hope, of what was within. If it was.... _proportional_... the boy swallowed hard, even more flushed with desire. At least when he was passed over again, he could think about this wild man as he jerked off. He’d probably think about him for years.

The boy looked back in his eyes to find him _smirking_. His mouth fell open as the man simply asked: “Will you, pretty boy?”

In an instant, the madam was beside them both, looking at the boy fearfully. The boy somehow found himself smirking back, licking his lips, knowing he looked like a little shit, and said: “Anything you like, sweetheart.”

The madam swept the man aside; the boy heard a hushed conversation take place. A barter over price. Belle saw his irritated expression and quietly reminded him: “He’s your first, darling, you know what that means. I imagine she’ll ask for quite a sum.”

“I’ll pay it.”

The boy’s eyes widened and found heat already pooling within him. Things seemed to happen in a blur after that. The price agreed, the man was whisked through a door to the bath, and the boy followed, vaguely grateful he no longer needed to fill the tub. He glanced back at the madam as she closed the door behind them, giving her an encouraging wink. He turned back and found the man setting down his swords, beginning to undress.

“What shall I call you, sir?”

The man smiled softly.

“Sir will do.”

“Shall I help you undress, sir? Or would you perhaps like to watch me?”

“What you _shall_ do is stop asking so many questions, pretty boy. Listen, and obey. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now sit there and watch me. Can you do that?”

“You wish me to watch you bathe?”

“Or perhaps you’re more of an idiot than even your mouth suggests.”

“My mouth _can_ suggest quite a bit. Sir.”

The man leveled him with a look that had the boy’s heart racing.

“We’ll see about that.”

The boy swallowed hard and kept the man’s gaze as he slowly unfastened his clothing, gently dropping it to the floor, slowly revealing more of his broad body. Scars twisting up his thick fingers and arms, white and sliced across his chest, disappearing into the dark hair there.

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, and he sat, earning a short smile. The man bent to unfasten his boots, watching the boy as he worked. The boy felt so flushed, so focused upon, he started working open his doublet.

“Did I tell you to undress?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Then stop.” The man straightened, his feet free, and got to work on his trousers, stepping towards the daybed where the boy sat. “You know, I had thought, since this is your very first time, to ask you how you’d like things to proceed. I can tell I’m going to have to be very firm with you, aren’t I?”

He was within arm’s length now-- the boy could feel the heat on him, could smell the muck and musk of him, could see the dark hair at his waistline, dipping lower as he eased his trousers down. He definitely wanted him to be firm with him. He fluttered his eyelashes and looked up at him with a smirk.

“ _Yes,_ sir.”

The man casually walked away and bent to remove his trousers, straightening to eye the boy, his cock revealed-- pride but also apprehension in his eye. The boy’s mouth dropped open. He may have been drooling slightly-- impossible to say. All he could say, at the sight of the _definitely proportional, very thick_ cock was:

“Please, sir.”

“What was that?”

He licked his lips. “Please. Sir. Can I--? Let me--.”

The man smirked and sank into the water, groaning deliciously at the warmth. The boy was going to be made to wait, it was clear. So he waited as patiently as he could, affecting boredom, releasing tortured sighs as he watched the man slowly, _so frustratingly slowly_ scrub his skin, his hair, his yellow eyes fixed on him.

He finally stood and stepped from the tub-- the boy leapt to his feet to offer a sheet of linen.

“Easy, pretty boy,” he said, wrapping the sheet around his hips, stepping away from the boy’s eager hands. “Lead me to my room.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, his frustration mounting, and led the man through a doorway, up the stairs, to a small room with little else inside but a simple bed.

The boy closed the door and rounded on the man, who chuckled softly. The boy’s hands flew to his doublet again.

“None of that, none of that, pretty boy.”

“ _Sir_ , will you-- can we-- will you get on with it?”

The boy found himself slowly backed into the door, the imposing man pressing him there, his yellow eyes glancing at his hand, which he drew up the boy’s thigh, across his hip, eliciting a shiver of pleasure. They locked eyes as the man’s huge hand teased towards the boy’s cock, already half-hard. He smiled.

“You have quite a mouth on you, little _brat._ Shall we see what else it can do?”

The boy flushed straight from his cheeks down his throat, his cock still firming against that thick hand. He tried to remain surly, but it really came out as a plea:

“ _Yes, sir.”_

He followed the man to the bed, watched as he swiftly removed the linen cloth and sat, and quickly sank to his knees and took a minute to marvel at the cock before him before getting to work eagerly. He’d always hoped he’d be impressive at this right off the bat, but as he slurped and struggled with the considerable length, he heard the man chuckle, and his face flushed red again with anger. The man grasped his hair and pulled him back.

“ _So eager,_ pretty boy. That’s enough, now-- I know you’re dying to, so take off your clothes.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, wiping his mouth as he stood, sullen now, and watched the man lay back on the bed to take in the view. The boy slowly unbuttoned his doublet and made a show of teasing off his linen shirt. He smirked as the man took his own dick in hand and stroked himself as he watched him bend over to remove his shoes.

“Keep going, pretty boy.”

“Yes, sir,” he said again, as sultry as he dared. He came close to the man as he unbuttoned his trousers, standing between his legs as he slowly pulled them down over his hips and off his cock. The man made an appreciative hum that made it twitch slightly, embarrassingly.

“Bend over and take these off, now. And don’t move til I tell you.”

“Yes, sir,” he breathed, turning to bend and give the man a full view of his round ass. He heard an even more satisfied grunt, and smirked again, his pulse racing. He stayed there, bent over, obediently waiting for the next instruction, completely exposed. He heard the man shifting on the bed behind him. A clink, a stopper. A moment later, he felt his large hand grip his hip-- warm and surprisingly soft. And a soft voice:

“Are you sure you want to do this, pretty boy? I’ll take my time. I’d love to take my time with you.”

He could feel the man’s breath on his ass and shuddered.

“ _Yes_ \--” he breathed.

“Yes...?”

“ _Sir.”_

_“_ I think I’ll have to make you beg for that.”

His hand on the boy’s hip gently shifted him onto the bed, on his elbows and knees, as he slowly fingered the boy open, leaving him panting and pleading.

“ _Please, please, sir, I’m ready, I need--”_

_“_ I’ll tell you what you need.”

He smacked his ass softly, a warning. The boy moaned.

“ _Please, please fuck me, sir--”_ he gasped, and felt the man withdraw completely. “Sir...?”

“Come to the window,” he said, already opening the view out to the street. “I think we could do a little advertising, don’t you?”

If it was possible for him to flush even more, he did as he made his way to the window and bent over again, his face just at the opening. He relaxed as much as possible and felt those broad hands grasp his hips again, looking and spreading him apart. 

He saw the baker walk down the street, humming to himself.

He groaned deeply as the man slowly pressed into him, his tip just easing past his tight entrance. The baker looked absently for the source of the noise.

“So good, you’re doing so good for me, pretty boy.”

He tensed slightly at the awkward sensation, the burning, and breathed deeply.

“That’s it, are you still sure?”

“Yes, yes-- _please, sir_.”

“Good,” the man said, slowly pressing into him more, stilling to let the boy get used to the feeling. “Because I’m going to fuck you so deep you won’t be able to work for days. Is that what you want, my pretty, pretty boy?”

“ _Fuck-- yes, sir,_ ” he said, arching his back against him to create some friction, earning another slap on his ass.

“Now, now, I’ll decide. I’m the patron, remember? Needy, filthy thing.”

The boy could only moan as the man slowly shifted and dragged inside him. The man reached to thumb over the head of his cock and he could feel his orgasm building already. 

He saw a woman leading her cows out to the south pasture just before his vision blurred, her head ticked up to place the moan she heard.

“So good, so good for me,” the man said, his hips snapping against the boy, fucking into him roughly now.

“ _Please, please, sir-- I’m going to--_ ”

“Then fucking come, you brat.”

A thick hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back as he moaned deliciously into the street, coming in streaks across the windowsill, exposed for all the world, his flushed cheeks and red lips an advertisement of amusements within. He fell forward, clutching the sill and catching his breath as his patron kept thrusting into him, still moaning hard and shuddering from the overstimulation.

“I’m going to cum inside you, would you like that?”

“ _Oh, fuck, yes sir_.”

“Enough to beg for it?”

“ _Please-- please-- defile me.”_ He turned and looked back at his patron, flashing him a cheeky, dimpled smirk, and felt him grip his hips even harder and thrust deeply as he came. He waited as the man stilled and slowly pulled out, wincing at the friction and feeling. He was dismayed to see he looked perfectly composed; his breathing was still and normal.

“Why so upset, pretty boy?”

“It’s just-- I thought you’d be more, er-- disheveled, sir. Are you satisfied?”

“No,” the man said with a devilish grin. “But we have all night.”

What else could he do? The boy blushed.

**Author's Note:**

> why
> 
> WHY
> 
> I HAVE WIPS THAT NEED WORDS


End file.
